


home is just another word for you

by glim



Series: happy steve bingo fills [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Epistolary, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Happy Steve Bingo, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pen Pals, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 10:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16721508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: After ten years of letters, emails, text messages, and Skype calls, Steve finally comes home.





	home is just another word for you

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill the prompt 'meeting the pen pal' for my Happy Steve Bingo card.

Dear James, 

My name is Steven Grant Rogers and I am 8 and you can call me: Steve. My teacher found us all pen pals to write to this year, but I'm writing to you from home because I didn't get to finish my letter at school. 

Let me tell you some of the things I like: 

Baseball (I'm going to try out again for the team next year)  
Comics  
Dinosaurs  
Drawing. (See #2, I want to draw my own comic book.)  
Video games  
Going to work with my Mom (sometimes, she's a nurse, so sometimes I have to go there because I'm sick, and I hate that) 

I live with my Mom in Brooklyn, New York in a small apartment. My room is blue and grey and I'm hoping Mom lets me hang posters in it soon. I have lots of my drawings hanging up, though, and if you like I can send you one. Tell me what you want me to draw for you and I promise I'll do it. 

(Just make sure it's not too hard because it might not be good, but I'll draw it for you.) 

I hope to hear from you soon and that you tell me about your family and all the things you like, too. 

Sincerely,  
Steve Rogers 

*

Dear Bucky, 

Okay, I won't tell anyone how much you hate being called James and I promise I won't call you that unless you ask me to. (But I'll write 'James' on the envelope so your mailman knows who to give the letter to and so it doesn't get lost before you can read it.) 

I think it would be nice to have sisters. Or maybe a brother? Mom says there's no way I'm getting either one (I just asked) so maybe you can tell me about your sisters. It must be nice to always have somebody to play with. 

For school I'm doing my science report on dinosaurs (yes!!!) so I can take a picture for you and show you so you can learn about them with me. And you can tell me more about cars and the ones you like and the ones you want to fix later on. We don't have a car and we're not getting one (I just asked about that too) but I can tell you about the subway and what it's like. I ride it almost every day with my mom and usually it's kind of dirty, but it's also really cool because it goes really fast. (Sometimes it makes my asthma bad, but you don't have to worry about that, if you come visit, I'll make sure it's not bad or doesn't get in the way.) 

Maybe we can watch the same baseball games on tv and we can write about those. Maybe someday I can take you to see one with me. Mom goes with me sometimes and sometimes my cousin Richie, but I bet you would be an awesome person go to see a baseball game with. We could probably get REALLY good at baseball if we watch enough games together. 

Please write soon! 

Sincerely,  
Steve 

*

Dear Bucky, 

I'm not sure that just because you're 11 that means you know everything about baseball tryouts but I read your whole letter twice anyway. I'll read it again before tryouts, too. (I won't forget my inhaler. I ~~never~~ hardly ever forget it, promise.) (I also promise I won't try beating up Jerry Fanucci again, even though he does pick on the littler kids. I told my Mom and my teacher and pretty much everyone else ever what happened so I can still tryout for baseball. But I'm only promising you that I won't get into it with him again because I know it matters to you and that you won't tell.) 

I'm sending you the comics you wanted to read and you can give them back when you're done or whenever. I'm also sending you the comics I drew based on the story we were talking about, so tell me what you think. The part of our story that you wrote was SO GOOD. You have to write the next part and I'll do the pictures. 

(I'm writing this in Social Studies in my notebook, but we have Art next so I'll write more later.) 

(Okay it's later after school.) 

Baseball tryouts were okay. I wish you were here with me and that you and I could walk home from school together, like you do with your sisters. I've never had a friend like you, Bucky, I swear I can imagine what it's like to talk to you just from reading all your letters to me. 

Bye for now...  
Steve

P.S. I'm going to keep all your letters forever, I promise. 

*

Buck, 

Okay, maybe high school kind of sucks, but that doesn't mean it's going to be awful the whole time, right? And if it's awful you can just tell your parents you want to come live with me, and since I'm your best friend, I'll make sure it's not awful for you, even though I'm still stuck in middle school. 

You're great at baseball anyway, so you'll be on there team there, definitely. Maybe even the JV team and not just the freshman one? 

Tell me everything about high school--your classes and teachers, and what it's like there, do you get a lot of homework, is it hard, are you going to homecoming? 

(I'm still stuck at home with pneumonia. Which really sucks, and I know you know, so... I've been coughing so much I can't sleep, so I've read the box of old comics you sent about twice over already. But hearing about school and everything you're doing is better than watching every single episode of Bones all over again. 

*

to: winter.soldier17@gmail.com  
from: firstavenger@gmail.com  
date: Dec 2, 2014 11:56PM  
subject: re: everything sucks 

Okay, Bucky, I just have to tell you... 

If anyone messes with you like that again, if any guy (or girl? but I'm guessing it's just guys for you, which is cool, but most guys are assholes, so good luck with that) does anything like that to you again... 

I'm going to have to come over there and hurt somebody. 

(METAPHORICALLY.) 

(mostly) 

Call me, okay? Or text me and I'll call you and I promise, Buck, any guy who doesn't realize how lucky he is to have you for a boyfriend is an idiot. You're the best guy I know. 

My high school doesn't even have a winter formal so you can stay home that night and come on Skype and watch a Star Wars with me and pretend I made you popcorn and dumb stuff like that, alright? I'll try my best to stay up through more than one movie and not fall asleep on you this time. Anyway, watching movies at home is more fun than going to some dance--you don't have to get dressed up for me, you don't even have to shower, and you don't have to worry about the music being bad. 

Seriously, though. Call me if you feel like talking. Or even if you don't feel like talking. 

*

to: winter.soldier17@gmail.com  
from: firstavenger@gmail.com  
date: April 4, 2016  
subject: well

... I told my mom I was bi and she kind of cried a little and told me I was brave and that she was proud of me and all that, you know, Mom things. I guess I'm lucky she wasn't crying for any other reason, though it still felt weird to tell her. 

(I don't think I'll have much more luck getting a boyfriend than a girlfriend, but thanks anyway for being supportive. I think? I came out to you like, what, two years ago, Buck? Did it take you that long to decide somebody might actually want to date me? Also, yeah, thanks, it really helps to know you might be able to find me somebody in Shelbyville, Indiana who might want to go out with me. If I can't find somebody in NYC, how am I going to manage in Corn Country?) 

Yeah, we did the PSATs here, too, and standardized tests are definitely not my thing. I'm still going to try and take as many AP courses as I can for art and history and English. Maybe French, too, because there's no way I want to put myself through the torture of AP Chemistry or one of those classes that makes you get hard. 

You know. If you're applying to college next year, you might want to think about getting a real email... 

*

**Sat, Jun 3 2017, 2:07PM**

You graduated! That's a great picture, btw. Is Becca crying? What did you do to her, Buck?

*

**Wed, Jul 4 2018, 11:10PM**

Yeah, yeah, thanks for the birthday wishes. All one hundred of them, Buck. 

(Seriously, though, thank you.) 

*

**Thu, Oct 5 2018, 3:35PM**

Mom's pretty sick, so I'm going to stay at the hospital. Know you're in class, but can you call? When you're done?

*

**Mon, Oct 15 2018, 2:03PM**

I'm okay. At least Mom's with Dad now. The whole family's over at my uncle's house, but I'm outside, I just... can't stay in there all afternoon with everyone. Tell me about your classes or something. 

*

**Sun, Nov 4 2018, 6:45AM**

Your plan is ridiculous and the last thing your family needs is your pen pal coming to live with them. 

**Sun, Nov 4 2018, 6:58AM**

... okay, Buck, I'm not sure telling them I'm your boyfriend will make it any better. 

**Sun, Nov 4 2018, 7:01AM**

That wasn't a no, btw. To the boyfriend thing, at least. 

*

to: jbbarnes@gmail.com  
from: s.g.rogers@gmail.com  
date: December 19, 2019  
subject: plans

I know you're taking an exam now, so I'm not going to blow up your phone with a million text messages. Tell me how it goes, though, after you pulled that all-nighter and drank way more coffee than one person should actually be able to endure. How did you actually drive to campus? 

(Oh my god Bucky. How DID you drive to campus? Thank god I'm coming over there to make sure you don't overcaffeinate yourself to death next semester. Swear to god, Buck, I'm registering at the community college for the sole purpose of looking after you. Anyway, they have a Fine/Visual Arts program, so I won't be bored) 

Okay, I'm sending you all the information for my flight. 

(I know everything is going to be alright. I know when I see you at the airport, that everything will be alright.)

Text me after you take a nap. xx

*

Bucky, 

This is probably the last letter that I'll write to you, at least ... at least the last of _this_ kind of letter. I'll probably never stop writing to you in some shape or form. I think the ten year conversation that's been going on between us is a permanent fixture in my life. But I wanted to make sure I said everything I need to, so here goes: 

_Thank you._

Thank you for all the letters over the past ten years. Thank you for the school pictures and the baseball cards and the birthday gifts. Thank you for the drawings and the comic books you sent me when I got pneumonia in eighth grade (I still have those, by the way, they got shipped to your house in one of my boxes--I did promise I'd return them!). 

Thank you for reading all my letters over the past few months and for writing back, even after all the texting and the Skype calls, you still wrote back. You still wrote me letters and sent me pages of your thoughts and ideas, all in your own handwriting, even after we'd talked or texted for hours. Thank you for keeping me company in the hospital these past few weeks and thank for you talking to my Mom on the phone and for staying up with me all those night I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to explain how grateful I am, but I hope I can show you soon. 

Thank you for offering to share your life and your family with me. I'm not sure what I'd be without you. 

You're my best friend and I love you. I've never had a friend like you, Bucky. 

I'll see you when I get home in a few days. 

Always,  
Steve

* * * 

Bucky stands at the arrivals gate at Indianapolis International Airport and studies the board for Steve's flight. It's been delayed twice now due to weather conditions and Bucky's just about ready for his third cup of airport coffee if it gets delayed again. A cold draft winds its way through the airport and Bucky huddles down into his coat and scarf, trying not to shiver. He shivers anyway; at least another cup of coffee would warm him up a little bit more.

He realizes the coffee is a bad idea, given how it's past four in the afternoon, he doesn't particularly like coffee, and his nerves are already on edge. No matter how long or how many times Steve's flight is delayed, Bucky will wait here at the airport, but _god_ , how he just wants to get his arms around Steve and pull him into the longest, warmest hug. 

That's all he's wanted for the past couple months: to pull Steve in against his chest, to bury his face in Steve's hair and murmur a whole litany of ridiculous endearments against his skin, to say _I love you too_ and _now you're home_ and _I'll take care of you now, we'll take care of each other, Steven._

He wants to see Steve's face when he says Steve's name. He wants to feel the warmth of Steve's body against his own, the brush of Steve's fingers against his own. 

He wants to find out if Steve's body fits against his own as perfectly as he imagines it will. 

Bucky runs a hand through his hair and looks up at the arrivals board. Flight 217 from New York City, LaGuardia Airport is due to arrive in about fifteen minutes. Nervous anticipation shivers right through Bucky and he finds himself smiling as he huddles down into his jacket this time. He think of Steve, of his blue eyes and his blond hair, of his slightly crooked nose and the way he smiles, almost bashful, ducking behind his glasses, when Bucky lowers his voice and calls him Stevie over Skype. 

He thinks about getting out his phone and flicking through the pictures he has of Steve, but Bucky just pushes his hands deeper into the pockets of his winter coat and lets the warmth in his chest diffuse through him. 

The arrivals board was right: fifteen minute later Steve's plane arrives, and about thirty minutes after that Bucky can spot Steve in the midst of the crowd. Bucky knows him immediately--the confused little frown between his eyebrows, his blond hair rumpled from the flight, the smile that lights up his face as he recognizes Bucky. 

"Steve!" Bucky shouts before he can stop himself, because he's can't stop himself, not when relief and anticipation bubble up in his chest. He waits for Steve to come to him, though; he's waited months and years for this day, he can wait a few more minutes. 

"Buck..." Steve walks up to Bucky, hesitates, then drops his bag down next to his suitcase and lets out this long, low sigh as Bucky slips his arms around Steve to pull him close. He melts right into the hug without any bashfulness or reserve, and he presses his face right into the crook of Bucky's neck. "Bucky," he says again, and his voice is barely more than a whisper. 

"It's okay, Steve.... It's okay now, you're home. You're _home_ ," he says again and with those words, Bucky knows that this is what he's been waiting for: to hold Steve close to him, give him the one thing that nobody else can--a home. 

Steve buries himself in the hug and nods against Bucky's shoulder. After all those years of being short and scrawny, he's only a couple inches shorter than Bucky now. When he wraps his arms around Bucky's waist and rests his head against Bucky's shoulder, all Bucky realizes is how their bodies fit together, perfect, like puzzle pieces. 

Now that he's held Steve in his arms, Bucky can't imagine him any different than this, he can't imagine them meeting in person any other way than this: the two of them in the airport, three days before Christmas, cold and relieved and happy. 

"Let's go," Steve says, but he holds onto the hug and onto Bucky for a few moments longer. He pulls away from the hug slowly, reluctantly, and his eyes are a bright blue as he looks at Bucky. "Wait..." 

"Yeah? What is it? Did you forget something?" Bucky leans into the gentle touch of Steve's fingertips on his cheek and smiles at the warmth. God, Steve's just so warm, his eyes and his touch and the press of his body against Bucky's when they hug. 

"No... there's just something I need to do before we go back to your house." 

"It's your house, too, now..." 

"Yeah," Steve says, and the warmth touches his eyes again as he smiles. 

"You're not going to say thank you again, are you?" Bucky leans further into the way Steve traces his jaw, then strokes the side of his neck. "Because you've done that about a hundred times already." 

"No. Well... maybe one more time." Steve smiles and ducks his head; when he looks down his eyelashes are a dark-gold brush against his skin. A moment later, he leans up and murmurs a 'thank you' against Bucky's lips anyway. The touch is quick and light, breath-soft, and Bucky can feel the words against his mouth more than he can hear them. 

His arms slide around Steve and their lips brush up against each other, tentative at first, and then Steve is kissing him and the world spins around Bucky in a dizzy warmth, voices blurring around him into a hush as Steve moves in to kiss him again. The second kiss is longer and deeper as Steve draws Bucky in closer, his body slim and strong and _so close_. 

"Thank you," Steve says again, "thank you for being my best friend, for writing to me when I was sick, or scared, or lonely. Thank you for listening, and for calling, and for texting me every day this semester, and--" 

"Shh," Bucky murmurs against Steve's lips when Steve's voice gets that heavy, tear-choked sound to it. He pulls Steve back into a hug so tight and so warm that Bucky can't imagine ever hugging anyone else this way. "My best friend...I promised I'd take care of you." 

"I know." His voice still shaky, Steve lean in to rest his head against Bucky's shoulder and stands with Bucky, still and warm and close, in the middle of the airport. After a minute, he raises his head and brushes another soft, quick kiss over Bucky's lips. "Let's go home."


End file.
